


Destress

by Anonymous



Series: Forbidden Kinks [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, Derek and Stiles Aren't Really Together, M/M, Rimming, Scat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though his day had sucked, at least it was looking up now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destress

Stiles practically slammed the sliding door to the loft open, out of breath from having practically sprinted up the stairs. Somewhere behind his eyes he can feel a pounding – the leftover effects from the headache he’d had all day.

 

To say that his Monday hadn’t gone well would be an understatement. He’d started the day off late to class – Scott had stayed the night over at Allison’s apartment, and so he hadn’t been there to wake Stiles up when he inevitably slept through his alarm. Usually the couple stayed at the boy’s place, but since Lydia had taken a week off from her studies to go and visit Jackass in England, and the girls’ place had been free, the two couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

 

And really, Stiles hears enough of their bedtime activities as it is, so he hadn’t protested the night of silence. However, it had turned on him – since he hadn’t needed to be buried in his room to try to block out the sounds, he’d instead stayed up late

 

So he’d slept through his alarm.

 

And his backup alarm.

 

And the third alarm, because if running with werewolves for nearly 5 years had taught him anything, it’s that you always needed a plan c.

 

He’d stumbled out the door, already half an hour late to his 8 am Criminal Psych class, only to find that the battery in his jeep had mysteriously died during the night. The thing wouldn’t start, no matter how many times he tried.

 

 _The college isn’t too far_ , he ended up thinking to himself. _If I walk quickly, I can make it there in ten, fifteen minutes – there’d still be an hour left of class._ He thanked Scott profusely in his brain for insisting they find an apartment close to the college.

 

And then, like an omen, he saw the lightning, and just as the crack of thunder followed it up, it started pouring harder than it had in Beacon Hills since he was a kid. It was another twenty minutes until the next bus to campus, so he decided to chance it.

 

Chancing it meant that he had to walk the ten-fifteen minutes in the pouring rain, but he did it, and ended up standing in front of his classroom soaking wet, actually dripping onto the floor.

 

But instead of reaching a class full of students, he reached an empty classroom with a sign on the door.

 

CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY WITH PROFESSOR MONTGOMERY CANCELLED

CLASSES WILL RESUME ON WEDNESDAY

 

Stiles couldn’t do anything but look at the sign in shock. He’d come all this way, in such a hurry, to find out the class was cancelled. Pulling out his phone roughly, he found that he had received an email before the class was supposed to start, letting him know of the cancellation. But of course he hadn’t checked it when he woke up, having been in such a rush.

 

Turns out he hadn’t charged his phone the night before, so when he saw that there was barely 10% left, he knew he wouldn’t be able to pass the time until his next class playing games as he usually did. Sighing to himself, he decided to make the most of his free time and head to the library to get a head start on the paper that was due next week.

 

But all of the books he had looked up were signed out, leaving him with some books that would barely tell him what he needed to know for the paper. Resigned, he took a few of them down, and began reading.

 

Then there’d been the fire drill. It was still raining outside, so his sweater that had just begun to dry was re-soaked as he was forced to stand outside while the school went through all of the nonsense required of a fire drill. At least this time he wasn’t suffering alone – everybody else that had been in the library stood beside him, although a good many of them had had the bright idea to bring umbrellas today.

 

Maybe he should start checking the weather reports before heading out in the morning, like his dad was always telling him to do.

 

When the drill ended, it was time for him to go to class – where he’d discovered that he’d also forgot to pack his notebooks. So he’d had to sit through all of his classes without taking notes. He’d forgotten to get his prescription filled for his adderall, so it was very hard to focus. He’d ended up staring so hard at the slideshows and trying in vain to keep his mind quiet that a pulsing headache had started in his second class, and hadn’t gone away all day.

 

And finally, the cherry on top of his day, his Forensics professor had handed back the results of the midterm they’d done a few weeks ago. He’d failed it, despite having stayed up the entire night before studying. He’d even gotten Lydia to help him study, but looks like that was for naught. He’d angrily shoved the paper into his bag, vowing to himself that he would attend office hours the next day to discuss his mark, not having the strength to do it right then.

 

So here he was now, at Derek’s loft – a place he didn’t go very often, not really, only once a week or so, when he really needed to. More often when they were fighting the enemy of the week (though since they’d managed to destroy the Nemeton two years ago and effectively end the pulses it was sending out to anything even slightly evil, those times had come around less often. It was more apt to label it was the enemy of the half-year or something now, though that didn’t sound as cool.

 

Standing in the doorway, still uncomfortable in his jeans that still hadn’t dried from the morning downpour, he looked in at the scene. Derek hadn’t let himself go, per say, but he’d definitely calmed down a lot since the main part of the pack had graduated. Stiles’ and Scott’s high school years had basically been the very definition of hell – attacked from all sides, even sometimes from within the pack itself, they’d barely managed to keep themselves alive, let alone keep all of the others alive.

 

Well, most of the others. He still felt pangs of sadness every once in awhile when his mind reminded him of Erica’s smile and Boyd’s loyalty.

 

No longer did the once-Alpha keep himself primed for defending himself at all times, now he was relaxed. He’d even put on a little weight as he’d calmed down on the constant workouts, his abs softening a little. Not that he was fat at all, or even chubby – he simply looked healthy in a way he hadn’t before. Feeling safe could do that to someone.

 

As Stiles’ stood there, uncomfortable and tired and stressed, Derek looked up briefly from where he was lounged on the small sofa, reading a book. There’s no way he hadn’t known who it was that had just banged into his home, and the book wasn’t questioning in anyway – it was observing. Clearly seeing (and probably smelling the stress and anxiety that he’s sure was wafting from his pores), he turned back to the book. To anyone else it might have been a dismissal, but Stiles had to wait only a second more to see it wasn’t.

 

Managing to keep his book in one hand, Derek used his other to nonchalantly wriggle out of the sweatpants that covered his legs. He was commando, as Stiles had discovered a few years ago he usually was. It certainly explained how he’d been able to wear those tight pants he’d practically been glued to back in the day. As the human watched, the sweatpants were kicked off the werewolf’s ankles, landing somewhere on the other side of the room, and the hand that had been taking them off went back to holding the book.

 

And Derek let his legs spread.

 

Feeling relief for the first time all day, Stiles let his bag drop just inside the door and practically stumbled over to the couch. He crashed down hard on his knees in front of the lounging man, practically falling into a haze as he brought his face down closer to what he wanted.

 

If anyone were to see them now, they’d probably think Stiles was about to give Derek a blowjob. And he couldn’t deny that he’d been tempted to do just that before, and had even tried it a few times.

 

Except every time he’d ever made the motion to even touch the werewolf’s cock, he’d been pushed away roughly. They’d done this often enough now that he knew better. So instead, he simply set his chin onto the edge of the couch, used his nose to gently nudge the low hanging breeder balls out of his way, and set his mouth on his prize.

 

He doesn’t quite remember how they’d gotten to the point where he happily ate out Derek’s ass on any sort of regular basis, let alone how he’d started to use it as a stress reliever. He knows it had first happened when he’d been drunk, and had been left alone in the loft with Derek as the other members of the pack had gone home after a party celebrating their defeat of a rival pack.

 

Derek, as always, had done the majority of the grunt work. As such, throughout the minor celebration, as the humans had gotten drunk and the werewolves had watched them, amused, Derek had remained covered in the blood, guts, and mud the battle had brought.

 

Through his foggy memories of the night, he knows that he’d somehow managed to convince Derek that he would be alright for twenty minutes if the wolf went to go and shower the mess off of him. The older man had grunted, glaring slightly, but had ultimately left.

 

And Drunk Stiles had forgotten in minutes where he had gone, and had walked to the bathroom for a piss, ending up walking into the already occupied bathroom to see Derek.

 

A very, naked Derek, still covered in blood, waiting for the shower to warm up before he went in to clean himself up. Shocked, Stiles had stumbled as he’d went to back out of the room quickly, apologies already spewing from his mouth. Drunk as he was, he was even less coordinated than usual, and had ended up falling forward.

 

The thing is, Derek’s bathroom wasn’t all that big, so it was inevitable that Stiles had fallen against him when he’d tripped. He’d fallen onto his knees, and his face had smashed into the fleshy part of Derek’s legs, just underneath the globes of his ass.

 

And then he’d smelled it. It was a ripe smell, strong and odourous, all too obvious. Still on the ground, and unable to stop himself, he’d glanced over quickly towards the toilet, to see it full of shit and piss.

 

No toilet paper, though.

 

He’d sluggishly realized that this meant Derek hadn’t wiped after he’d gone, and as he thought about this, he’d looked back in front of him. His left cheek was still pressed against Derek from when he’d fallen, but he’d shifted up unconsciously. It was why the smell had been so strong and sudden – he wasn’t smelling it from the toilet, he was smelling it from the ass that was only an inch or two away from his nose.

 

He’d blamed in on the alcohol flooding his system later, affecting his senses, but right then, the shit hadn’t smelled bad at all. It hadn’t really smelled good, either, but not as bad as shit usually did. Instead, Stiles had found himself moving closer, trying to get more of, to understand why Derek’s ass smelled so good.

 

He still doesn’t know why the werewolf hadn’t immediately pushed him away, but he hadn’t. He’d stayed still throughout Stiles’ movements, remained still as the human had sluggishly pushed his nose into the crease between the cheeks, still as Stiles had taken deep breath after deep breath through his nose.

 

He’d only moved when Stiles made a noise – a light moan, the sound of his desperation for more clearly ringing through it. It was the clearest part of Stiles memory of the night – while the thoughts behind the actions were fuzzy, the actions themselves rang clear here. Derek had moved his hands behind him, and instead of pushing Stiles away from his ass, he’d used them to spread himself open, leaving himself bare to Stiles’ eyes. And nose.

 

And mouth.

 

As if some unseen force were pushing him forward, he’d immediately taken the opportunity to get his tongue in the now spread crack, feverishly licking in broad strokes. In the back of his mind, Stiles had registered that he was essentially using his tongue as toilet paper in that moment, feeling clumps of shit come loose from the hair surrounding the hole. There was also the taste of sweat, salty and clinging with every lick.

 

He’d eaten and cleaned the hole for ten minutes before Derek had pushed him away, stepping into the shower without a word in his direction. Forgetting that he needed to go to the washroom, Stiles had left the bathroom, leaving the werewolf to it.

 

Stiles had been gone before Derek had finished his shower, mind clear and sober in a way it shouldn’t have been.

 

Somehow, it had gone from that drunken moment to this – Derek willingly spreading his legs whenever Stiles was in need of it. He couldn’t say that he wanted things to be different – they weren’t in a relationship, had barely passed the border into friendship territory. They weren’t meant to be in any sort of romantic relationship.

 

It just so happened that Stiles had a need, and Derek could fulfill it. It’s what friends did for each other, if a little less platonic than the word usually represented.

 

As Stiles nuzzled his way further into the ass in front of him, he couldn’t help but smile for the first time all that day. Even though his day had sucked, at least it was looking up now.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd, so if you find any errors, please feel free to let me know in the comments!
> 
> If you'd ever like to chat, or perhaps send a prompt for a story, you can find me on tumblr @ forbiddenkinks-ao3. I'm not currently accepting prompts, but I'm (usually) always around for messages!


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